


Becoming His Dove

by Marshmallow_Mel



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Smut, I'm Bad At Tagging, Ivar is a soft boy, Rough Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, you can't tell me i'm wrong
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:41:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29665368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marshmallow_Mel/pseuds/Marshmallow_Mel
Summary: A fix-it AU for Ivarr. It explores a sexual and eventually romantic relationship with a female Eivor and how I believe his story arc should have happened.
Relationships: Eivor (Assassin's Creed) & Ívar beinlausi Ragnarsson | Ivar the Boneless, Eivor (Assassin's Creed)/Ívar beinlausi Ragnarsson | Ivar the Boneless, Eivor/Ivarr Ragnarsson
Comments: 9
Kudos: 41





	Becoming His Dove

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic that I'm actually publishing in a VERY long time, please be kind, but feedback is always welcome.
> 
> Ivarr invites Eivor to have a drink, with absolutely no ulterior motive.

In the din of the evening before the crowning, Eivor found herself at the river to bathe. She wasn't sure how long she'd spent with the Ragnarssons, but she had seen too many battles and too few baths since. Leaving most of her armor and weapons in the room provided by Ceowulf, she discarded the rest on the shore before sinking into the cool water.

She sighed happily, running her fingers through her loose hair, when she was startled by a booming voice. 

“Eivor! I've been searching for you everywhere. Come! Have a drink with me.”

She knew it was Ivarr without turning. He was standing at the edge of the water, a large bottle in one hand, two drinking horns in the other; his grin wide and mischievous. Eivor couldn't help her own smile as she shouted back, “Is that a request or a command?”

“Oh I don't think anyone in all the Nine Realms could command you. Not if they valued their lives.” His laugh was deep and boisterous, highlighting his features in a way that made her insides clench.

It was not the first time she had ached for him. When they had met in Repton, she was greeted with the sight of him shirtless and sweaty, hoisting a Saxon spy in the air to torture him for his crimes. Despite his deranged nature, she couldn't help the way desire pooled deep in her belly. The way he moved in battle, too, ducking and dodging between powerful attacks, left her breathless and wanting. She shouldn't have, yet she desired the man standing on the shore, wicked and waiting; she had not failed to notice the weight of his gaze. He watched her when she was near, feigning apathy, but his eyes betrayed his interest.

She relented, if only to sate her curiosity. “Give me a moment to dress. I will meet you at the gates.”

“I'll wait here, unless the ferocious Wolf-Kissed is a shy little dove?” he teased, brows raised and a smug grin playing on his lips. There was a challenge in his eyes, too, and Eivor was not one to back down.

Squaring her shoulders, she sauntered out of the river and made straight for Ivarr. She took the bottle from his hand and drank deeply, never breaking eye contact. “I am no dove, Ivarr Ragnarsson, if you wish to keep your tongue I suggest you remember.”

He leaned in close, lips brushing her ear as he whispered, “Speaking is not the only thing I can do with my tongue, little dove.”

Eivor took another deep drink in an effort to hide her blush. Even with the way he watched her, his forward comment had caught her off-guard, but she refused to give him the satisfaction. She passed the bottle back to him and busied herself with dressing. The heat of his gaze was heavy as he watched, eyes raking over every inch of her flesh in such a way that even fully dressed, she felt naked. “To the alehouse?”

Ivarr scoffed, placing a hand on the small of her back. “I've no interest in joining the rabble. I know a quiet spot.”

He led her through the crowds to a small room within the fort. It was simply decorated, nothing more than a bed and table shoved against opposite walls with room for little else. He poured their drinks and settled into his chair, his eyes never leaving her as he absentmindedly rubbed at the scar on his face.

After a few moments, he took a drink and sighed, “I know I have been a cock, but you are a good fighter, I respect that. Let it be known that Ivarr the Boneless considers Eivor a friend.”

Her eyes had wandered to the table before she could stop them. “Who calls you boneless?”

“Some bacraut I killed in Hibernia. Used his guts to shine my spear.” He cocked his brow and made a lewd gesture. “Called me boneless because I move like a reed in the wind.”

The way he swayed in demonstration made Eivor chuckle. “Not because you're always too drunk to plow?”

Shaking his head in feigned offense, he seemed lost in thought for a moment, before changing the subject with another sigh. “Valhalla. That is where I am bound. I can smell the blood and taste the mead. I will sit beside the high one with my axe in hand.”

Eivorr nodded, studying him for a moment before replying, “A fitting end for a Ragnarsson.”

“You would think, eh? Me, Halfdan, we'll be there. But Ubba... no... I do not think we are chasing the same victory. Not anymore.” He stared into his mead wistfully, lost to the world.

There was a distance in the man's eyes, a fond remembrance of times gone by, and Eivor knew the feeling. She had often experienced that when Sigurd had left Fornburg. “What does Ubba want?”

“To grow old and fat on a farm somewhere, with little Ubbas to chase about,” he scoffed, his face twisting in disgust.

“He wants an heir, it's a common dream.”

Ivarr slammed his cup against the table in frustration, sending mead sloshing over the rim. “Not for a warrior! Not for drengir like us! He was different before. But this place, England... It softened him.”

Features drawn, Eivor reached across the table, placing her hand over Ivarr's. “What was he like before?”

“Like me. Ferocious. Wild,” he replied, voice tinged with nostalgia and admiration.

She studied their joined hands for a moment; she had expected him to pull away, yet when she looked up there was a softness to his expression. Whether it was because of her or nostalgia, she wasn't sure. “With respect, I don't think anyone is like you.”

A cloud passed over his features and he abruptly pulled his hand away. “If that is a compliment, I missed it. All I mean to say is, things were easier some time ago.”

Unexpected emotions clouded her mind as her own hand returned to her cup. “If it bothers you so much, why not strike out on your own?” It was a simple question with a complex answer, and Eivor knew it before Ivarr answered.

“Because he is my brother. I love him. And I will do what it takes to drag him back around to my way of thinking. We are warriors, all. And that is to the death.” He held his cup aloft in a toast.

She nodded, mirroring his gesture. “To Valhalla.”

They both took a drink and settled back into their chairs. Ivarr's eyes wandered a moment, before settling on the axe at Eivor's side. “Ah! I see you found my axe.”

She followed his gaze, admiring the detail of the Danish weapon. “Leofrith gifted it to Burgred after your encounter. I found him unworthy of wielding such a weapon, so I relieved him of it.”

The response earned a hearty laugh from the man. “We are kindred spirits, you and I.”

Eivor smiled, his laugh becoming a familiar melody to her; she was so captivated by the sound that she barely registered the way it tugged at her heartstrings. She finished her drink and eyed the older man. “Did you want it back? It was yours after all.”

“Consider it a gift, little dove.” A smug grin spread across his lips. 

She chuckled suspiciously, eyeing him over the rim of her cup. “I did not take you for a generous man, Ivarr.”

“Oh?” He rose to his feet, looming over her. “Shall I give you a demonstration of my generosity?”

The implications of his words sent a shiver down her spine, but when she spoke, her voice did not waver. “Is that why you brought me here? To bed me?”

There was an unmistakable hunger in his eyes now. “I brought you here to drink and talk, but I would be lying if I said I didn't want you.” He moved around the table with the slow, predatory grace she had come to expect from the almost feral man. “Is that why you're here? You want me to devour you like a starved wolf? Is that why they call you Wolf-Kissed?”

“I...” There had been very few times in her life that Eivor had been speechless or intimidated, much less both, yet there she sat beneath the gaze of Ivarr Ragnarsson, scarcely able to breathe.

He leaned in close, blue eyes earnest and almost kind. “You need only tell me yes or no, my dove.”

She spoke before she had the time to process what was happening, just a breathless, “Yes.”

As soon as the word had left her, Ivarr was on her, lips crashing against hers like a wave upon unforgiving cliffs. He pulled her from her chair, shifting their position just enough to push her forcefully against the wall, one hand at her throat. Tugging her hair back to expose her neck, he attacked; teeth, tongue, lips grazing at every bit of bare flesh they could reach. It was unfamiliar and headier than any mead or mushroom she'd ever consumed, each nip of his teeth and tantalizing stroke of his tongue sending sparks throughout her whole body.

Eivor couldn't stop the whines and whimpers torn from her throat at Ivarr's attention, and she could feel him smirk against her skin as he pressed his lips to her ear once again. “You've not been properly fucked, have you?” He slid a hand beneath the cloth of her breeches and between her folds, finding them already slick with wanting. Pulling away just enough to look into her eyes, he chuckled. “Hm. Not in a long time, at least.” He withdrew his hand, bringing the fingers covered in her moisture to his lips and cleaning them with deft, practiced strokes of his tongue.

Annoyance and desire bubbled beneath her skin as he led her to the bed, sitting heavily when her calves hit the frame. Her eyes followed his movements as he joined her and began unlacing his boots. Heart beating in her ears, she mirrored him, eager to shed her clothes. 

“Men see a powerful woman. Warrior, daughter of a chieftain, and they are frightened,” Ivarr continued as he removed each piece of his armor tantalizingly slowly. Pulling the leathers over his head, he smirked at the sight of Eivor already bare and stretched out on the bed, and gestured to her discarded weapon. “As they should be when on the wrong side of your axe; but when they take you to bed...” He descended upon her, biting and kissing up the inside of one leg. “... they treat you like a flower. Dainty and fragile.” He repeated his actions up her other leg, punctuating his sentence with a hard bite that would likely leave a bruise. “In my experience, powerful women need to be handled like whores.”

“You intend to treat me like a whore?” Eivor asked, brow cocked.

He laughed. “I will treat you with the respect you deserve, little dove. But I do not intend to fuck you gently.”

There was little talk after that as Ivarr began lapping at her wetness as though trying to quench a thousand-year thirst. Eivor moaned as he devoured her without rhyme or reason, licking, biting, sucking until she was but a whimpering mess under his control. Her noises seemed to spur him on as he thrust two fingers into her core, curling them just enough to have her seeing stars. With every thrust of his fingers and stroke of his tongue he coaxed her closer to climax until she clenched her thighs around his head, his name on her lips as she peaked. She rode out her orgasm as Ivarr continued to drink her in, seeming to feed on the way she clenched and twitched beneath him.

When they finally regained their breath he laughed. “I thought you were going to crush my skull. What a way to go, eh? Ivarr the Boneless, not killed in battle, but while pleasing a beautiful woman with thighs strong as Thor's hammer.” He freed himself from the bindings of his breeches and pulled Eivor flush against his chest, kissing her deeply. Hoisting her up, Ivarr pushed her back against the wall. The stone was cold against her skin, a stark contrast to the scorching heat of his cock pressing against her sex. She bucked her hips, earning a growl from his throat and a hard smack on her ass. His breath hot against her ear, he whispered, “If I had known you would be this eager for my cock, I would have taken you back in Repton, my little dove.”

Eivor rolled her hips again with a smirk. “Get on with it then! I'm starting to believe you truly are boneless.” That broke whatever small semblance of self-control Ivarr had left. He buried himself deep within her with one powerful thrust, leaving them both breathless. Surprisingly, he gave her time to adjust- or perhaps he just needed to take a moment to recover- before he set a punishing pace. He wasn't huge, but the way he moved and seemed to predict and meet each roll of her hips, hitting just the right spot, was intoxicating. It was as if he was reading runes etched into her body, and true to his word, it was not gentle. He wrapped her hair around one hand, pulling harshly as his hips snapped against hers; explored her body with his mouth, licking at lines of her tattoos, biting at soft flesh, and sucking deep purple marks onto her pale skin.

She was quickly approaching another orgasm, her body tensing in anticipation, but just as she was about to reach her second climax he stilled. She let out a pathetic whine she was too far gone to suppress as he pulled away. He tsked, shifting to bend her over the table, one hand curling around her throat and squeezing as he thrust into her with renewed vigor, chasing his end. Eivor tipped her head back and Ivarr took the opportunity to pull her against him, her head resting on his shoulder as the hand not around her neck snaked down to rub circles against her clit. She felt sparks crackle across her body and her walls clench around his stuttering movements. She would have screamed his name, but the sensations stole her voice; instead she whimpered and moaned as her orgasm crashed through her.

“What a good little dove you are.” Breath hot against her skin, his voice was barely audible over the roar of blood in her ears. His movements became even more erratic as he reached his own peak, groaning and growling as he filled her with his seed. Her head was spinning by the time he released his grip on her neck, and she leaned heavily against him, not trusting her weight on her own shaky legs. She could practically feel the smirk on his lips as he kissed her shoulder. Then he scooped her up, laying her down on the bed with uncharacteristic care. “Rest, my dove. I'm not done with you yet.”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone in the Lizze's bar discord for encouraging me to finally post this (despite it not being a Cyberpunk fic) and a special thank you to Ral for being an amazing beta reader <3


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